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Rita Aug 28
Our thighs touch, salty from the ocean,

which I saw in your eyes when we first met.

I want to touch you, your hands, your hair, strands made of gold,

like the sun that kisses your skin during the summer.

I don't know what it is about you, but it was more than enough,

to make me fall in the abyss of infatuation,

at the beach.
Rita Aug 26
So young, yet so desperate
Behind the bedroom door.

Tormenting, poisonous memories, her inner child is slowly dying.

Yet, no one notices. And asking for help seems "too much".

So, walking the tightrope is now part of the routine.

The difference between light and darkness, always blurry
There's always a way out, even if it takes you some time to find it

— The End —